


Pour Me Another

by veritashopian



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, Gen, Laurent’s pov, M/M, Meet-Cute, but what else is new, laurent is a music snob, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 05:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14805131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritashopian/pseuds/veritashopian
Summary: Laurent is used to getting hit on in bars. That is not what’s happening.





	Pour Me Another

“Sorry, uh, is this seat taken?”

Laurent closed his eyes and breathed through his nose with agonizing slowness. And here he’d thought choosing the stool at the far end of the bar would send the right message. That message, incidentally, was “ _Don’t bother me, I’m not interested.”_

He turned his head to say as much. When he opened his eyes he met not a face, but the front of a terribly torn white T-shirt. He looked up into the face of-

Well. The word _Adonis_ chiefly came to mind, if Adonis dressed like a murder victim and had heartbreakingly sad brown eyes. The man hunched in on himself at Laurent’s glare, as if it were possible for a person of his considerable size to somehow reduce himself.

“Sorry,” the man said again, like a beaten dog. “I’ll find somewhere else to sit.” He winced like the very thought of walking any farther along the bar would bring him immense pain. 

Glancing around discretely, Laurent quickly found that finding a seat anywhere would be a challenge. The night was in full swing, and it seemed that this was the last unoccupied barstool in the house. Because of course it was. There was a game showing on the televisions above the bar, and although Laurent wasn’t paying much attention he could tell that the favored team wasn’t doing too well by the grumbles of the patrons. They wouldn’t be any more welcoming than Laurent.

“Fine.” Laurent faced forward again, cautiously guarding his drink. “Just don’t expect any conversation from me. I’m busy.”

“Thanks.” The man hopped up into the stool and waved down the bartender. Jord was working tonight, or else Laurent probably wouldn’t even be here. The man was the only bartender Laurent trusted in this godforsaken city, even if other bars also had the long, narrow mirror up above the racks that let customers see the restaurant behind them.

“Give me something that tastes good but will fuck me sideways,” the stranger requested in a somber tone. “Apparently I’ve always been a sucker for irony.”

Jord’s eyes flitted to Laurent, who shrugged imperceptibly. How was he supposed to know what the stranger was rambling about? Jord nodded and started mixing something containing several types of strong liquor.

Laurent sipped his own coke, studying his new companion in the mirror. He didn’t appear to be plotting anything, nor was he watching the game. He simply watched Jord work, eyes fixed loosely on the twirl of upending bottles as the bartender poured freely. The final product was an alarming shade of coral pink, completed with an orange slice and a bright blue paper umbrella. _Chalis._

The man’s lips twitched like they wanted to smile but couldn’t find the strength. “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it.”

“Umbrellas make everything better, in my experience,” Jord answered simply. Then one of the sports fans yelled for another round, and Jord left them with a small wave.

The man carefully picked up his colorful drink with both hands. There was something jarring about the contrast between the hulking man and the delicate glass that bordered between humorous and unsettling. Gesturing to Laurent, he held it up in a toast. He didn’t seem to care that Laurent wasn’t facing him, and wouldn’t. “Cheers to you,” he said. “May your life be way less complicated than mine.” And then he plucked out the umbrella and downed the drink in one go.

Laurent’s lip curled. “Are you trying to kill yourself? That’s the alcoholic equivalent of a moose tranquilizer.”

“I’m a big guy,” was the only reply Laurent got, as the man was already signaling to Jord that he wanted another.

Jord’s eyes widened at the sight of the empty glass. “Uh, listen mister…?”

“Akielos. Call me Damianos.”

The much beleaguered bartender looked the stranger up and down, likely trying to piece together the story of the torn clothes and apparent deathwish. “Damianos. Are you sure I can’t get you some water?” he asked softly. “Or something to eat? I’ll gladly make you another drink, but…”

The man was unswayed. “I appreciate the offer, but right now I really need to stop thinking.”

And… Laurent could understand that, actually. 

“Really?” he said out loud. “Getting pissed and finding yourself in a ditch in the morning is the best option? You must have had a fucking nightmare of an afternoon.”

Dark brows furrowed as the stranger- Damianos- turned back to look at Laurent. “I thought you were busy.”

“I am. I’m busy telling you not to be an idiot.”

“Well, I actually _have_ had a fucking nightmare of an afternoon. So if you don’t mind?”

Laurent planted his elbow on the bar and rested his chin on his hand, leaning into it. “That’s funny. I could have sworn _you_ were the one who asked to sit with _me._ You seem more than capable of leaving if you really can’t stand me.”

Damianos gave Jord an exaggerated look of confusion, but Jord just smiled thinly. “We’ve got a full house.”

“Please just give me another of whatever that was,” Damianos growled. “I’ll give you my whole wallet if it’s payment you’re worried about. And if I go for a third, _then_ I’ll order some damn onion rings. Fair?”

“Fair,” Jord conceded. “But I reserve the right to cut you off if you start anything.” He said this last point with a meaningful glance at Laurent.

Laurent smiled and sat back in his seat.

Jord made the drink, sans umbrella and orange slice, and put it down on the bar before stalking off once again to deal with the other customers.

Damianos didn’t chug this one. Laurent watched him in the mirrored surface over the bar as he took a few sips. A pleased look crossed his face as he actually took the time to taste the flavor of the chalis. It was the first genuine smile Laurent had seen from the man, and it lended an additional facet of handsomeness to his already gorgeous face.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Laurent purposefully waited to take another sip of his drink before he turned. “I beg your pardon?” He asked.

Damianos glared at him and gestured to his head. “I’m not blind. Stop staring at me in the mirror, the last thing I need right now is for some- some _intellectual_ to judge my drinking habits.”

“What makes you think I’m an intellectual?” Laurent asked, truly curious. He got that a lot, but not usually in a sports bar and not usually without his reading glasses.

Snorting, Damianos answered. “Well for one, you just said _I beg your pardon._ Since you’re not British or ninety years old, I can only assume.”

“Oh, clearly. Was there anything more concrete in your astute analysis?”

“ _Astute analysis_ ,” he mocked. “You’re making it too easy.”

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re alone in a sports bar during the championship game, drinking pop. Clearly, your family or roommate is having a huge party at your place and you’d rather deal with drunk strangers here than deal with your drunk friends.”

“How cute,” Laurent said. “You assume I, a known intellectual, have friends.”

That startled a laugh out of Damianos. “You’re right,” he said with a grin. “I should have known from the second you opened your mouth that no one can stand you.”

It was a completely tactless answer, made to go along with Laurent’s humor and maybe start a  playful fight. From anyone Laurent actually knew, it would be a funny inside joke. But from this stranger, it hit a little too close to home for Laurent.

“Perhaps I’m not the intellectual here,” he said softly. “You’re three for three.”

Damianos frowned. “Huh?”

“Intellectual, party, no friends,” Laurent clarified, ticking the points off on his fingers. “Lazar didn’t give me much of a heads up before his people showed up at the apartment, so I didn’t have time to grab anything to entertain myself before I left. Ergo, the bar.”

The silence that stretched between them grew awkward too quickly. Damianos looked torn between apologizing and fleeing the scene in embarrassment. Apology apparently won out.

“I’m sorry,” he said, setting his drink down and then picking it back up immediately. “That wasn’t a cool thing to say. Incidentally, I’m also sorry about your- roommate?” 

“Cousin.”

“Your cousin, who sounds like a bit of a dick.”

“Well, you are what you eat.”

He’d timed it perfectly- Damianos was in the middle of a sip and choked on his liquor he was laughing so hard, and some of the drink sloshed over the side of the glass and onto the collar of that torn T-shirt. It seeped into the white fabric, staining pink down the planes of Damianos’ chest like his throat had been slashed.

Laurent couldn’t manage to hide his grin this time. “Is the alcohol finally catching up to you? It’s about time- I told you, that chalis is terrifying.”

“I’m not drunk. You’re just mean,” Damianos complained. He pouted and quickly grabbed some napkins from the bar counter to dab at his ruined shirt. Some of the drink even dripped onto the lap of his jeans- black, tight, and nearly as shredded as the shirt. 

“What, are you actually that much of a hypocrite?” Laurent goaded. “You’re dressed for a porno, and not to act opposite a beautiful woman. I find it hard to believe you haven’t had that kind of proposition before.”

Damianos crumpled his napkins and tossed them in front of him. He could no longer look Laurent in the eye it seemed, as he busied himself with sipping on his chalis and didn’t respond.

Laurent faced forward fully once again, content with the thought that he had accomplished his mission. This drunken fool had stopped drinking like he had a deathwish, and was likely uncomfortable enough to leave Laurent alone for the remainder of the evening.

As chance would have it, likelihood was not on Laurent’s side.

“It’s not supposed to have all of these rips,” Damianos said sadly. “The shirt, not the jeans. I was in a fight.”

There was nothing Laurent could say to that that wasn’t condescending- or worse, concerned. But he didn’t have to, because Damianos kept talking into the rim of his glass, a soundtrack of confusion and anger that played softly next to Laurent.

“We were supposed to go to this concert, right? But it got rained out so she said we should reschedule the date and dinner for this weekend. I decided to surprise her anyway, bring something over that we could cook together.” He stopped, choking on his words. “It wasn’t even a half hour after we talked on the phone. Was- was he there _with her_ while we made our plans?”

“Who?” Laurent asked softly.

“Kastor,” Damianos said. “My brother.”

Laurent stared. He thought of Auguste, and the relationship they had. He wondered if it would have survived something like this- the lies, the betrayal, the hurt. Maybe Laurent had that capacity to forgive inside of him, but he really couldn’t be sure. What he was sure of was that now, in this state of mind, he wasn’t the right person to talk to if one wanted advice. There was really no question that his love for his brother would eventually win out, but that was because he knew Auguste would give anything for him. Perhaps Damianos couldn’t claim the same for this Kastor.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That really is a nightmare of an afternoon.”

“Oh, it gets better. There’s apparently a baby on the way, and they’ve been sleeping together long enough that she doesn’t know whose baby it is.” Damianos knocked back the last of his second drink of the evening and slammed the glass down harder than necessary. “When they told me that, I snapped. I punched Kastor once and then he did this to my favorite fucking shirt before Jokaste kicked me out.”

Snorting behind his hand, Laurent apologized as Damianos’ hurt eyes turned on him. “Sorry, sorry. It just seems your priorities are out of order. Cheating, a baby, and your poor ruined…” he squinted, trying to make out the text of the shredded T-shirt. “Delfeur shirt,” he finished, surprise coloring his tone. “Was that the band you were going to see with this woman?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, even if you clearly have poor taste in women, at least your music choice is sensible.” Laurent raised his glass in a half salute. “Best band to come out of this side of the country. I’m surprised you were able to get tickets.”

Another warm smile broke through the gloom. “Damn straight,” Damianos agreed. “I’m going to go see them on the rain check date. Without her. I’ve decided this just now.”

“As far as drunken decisions go, that’s not the worst you could have come up with.”

The smile changed, a shy little crescent that dimpled at one corner. “I’m about to make a riskier one. Since I have an extra ticket… Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I have plans,” Laurent stated plainly. He waited for the other man’s face to fall before adding, “But those plans can be changed. I’m assuming we’ll need to communicate to work out the details?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, holding it out expectantly.

His face lighting up like the sun, Damianos took the phone and painstakingly entered his contact information. Laurent noted with approval that he didn’t call himself from Laurent’s phone, but rather handed it back so Laurent himself could make the decision to share his own number. He tapped on the name and frowned at the screen. “Damen?” He asked.

“My small name,” ‘Damen’ explained sheepishly. “It’s what my friends call me.”

Laurent looked between the man beside him and his phone for a moment before placing the call, grinning when Damen’s phone began to ring with one of Delfeur’s more obscure songs as its tone. “Friends,” he said, smiling. “Is that what we are?”

**Author's Note:**

> In every and all universes, Damen wears tight clothes and Laurent has sneaky ways of helping strangers. Thanks so much for reading!


End file.
